


A Throne

by LadyQuinnzell



Category: Original Work
Genre: Blow Jobs, F/M, Harems, Master/Servant, Nobility, Power Dynamics, Public Nudity, Public Sex, royal consort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-11
Updated: 2019-10-11
Packaged: 2020-12-12 04:38:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20982278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyQuinnzell/pseuds/LadyQuinnzell
Summary: A servant helps distract her overworked King.  A smutty writing exploring a particular kink.





	A Throne

“...and I’m sure, your Majesty, that we will be able to reach an agreement that pleases both Your Majesty and my Lord Henry.”

I stifle a yawn. The dignitary has been droning on for almost an hour, and I have long since stopped trying to follow his ramblings. It’s been a fairly slow day of audiences, and I’ve been feeling uncharacteristically lazy. I’m curled up on my pile of pillows, naked limbs full of a drowsy warmth. 

From half-lidded eyes, I look up at the gilded throne next to me. Wrought in stone and inlaid with gems, it is quite a sight to behold. Imposing and immovable, perfect and strong. But I have seen it from this position every day for years, and the carvings are a source of comfort for me. A knowledge of home, a place at your side. One of my hands drifts up to my heavy collar, toying with the jewels there as I gaze up at you.

Magnificently clad in leather and silks, you’re reclined on your throne, the picture of relaxation and attentiveness. The golden crown rests upon your head, your long brown hair drawn back to the nape of your neck. Your impeccable dress makes me feel only more obscene in my nakedness. But where that used to embarass me, now I can’t help but revel in it. I know how much it pleases you, to have me naked at your feet.

With a generous wave of your hand, you speak. “Of course, Ser Andrew. We look forward to Lord Henry’s next visit.” 

I can’t help but shiver at the sound of your voice. It’s like a gentle growl, resonating through me. Oh, but I want the official audiences to finish. I want that delicious and sweet voice all to myself. I can’t help but squirm a bit in anticipation, but you don’t look down.

“How many more?” You call out, sounding as tired as I feel. My heart goes out to you. I want to kiss your exhaustion away, to nibble and lick you until-

The footman interrupts my fantasies. “Just one, Your Majesty.”

I stretch languidly. The chain leading from my collar to your throne jingles. 

“The ambassador of Valencia, Your Majesty.”

At that name, I sit up. You told me about this. “A young country posturing for war,” you said, irritated. “A pathetic grab for power.” I glance up at you to see your reaction. You keep your gaze forward, but I see tension gather in your shoulders. 

“Show him in.” Your voice is steel, the annoyance barely hidden.

I settle myself into a kneeling position, all laziness gone. This should be interesting. 

The great doors open, and the ambassador enters, bowing extravagantly. I gaze at him cooly, taking in his frumpy shirt and vest, and his chest and cheeks inflated with self-importance. A general-turned-politician, if I had to place him. When he straightens and sees me, kneeling next to the throne, naked but for a collar of beaten gold, his eyes bulge out in shock. No doubt he had heard tales of your court, but hadn’t bothered to confirm their truth.

I carefully avert my gaze. I’m not allowed to make eye contact with anyone but you, and I know this rule well. His eyes are lingering on my breasts, and I stick out my chest, showing off your treasures. 

You know exactly what he's distracted by, and it always amuses you. It's one of the reasons you have me accompany you in your throne room. You speak first, voice light with amusement. “Greetings, Ambassador. Welcome to our court.”

He manages to tear his gaze away from me and back to you. “Thank you, your Majesty.” He bows again. “I have come to discuss the growing power of Valencia, and how you might begin showing my magnificent country proper respect.”

“I see.” This time, your voice is tinged with annoyance. 

The ambassador launches into a speech about plans and barely-veiled threats, but it fades into the background as I gaze up at you. Just the sight of you sends a bolt of pleasure through me. Your shoulders are tense, like a snake about to strike. 

A plan begins to formulate in my mind. A way I can both relieve some of the pressure that is being placed upon you, as well as take care of the heat that has been building between my legs. I can’t help but smirk a bit at the idea.

I slowly get to my hands and knees and crawl to your throne, breasts and ass swaying in the air. The dialogue doesn’t break, but I’m not worried. I've only just begun. Finally at your side, I sit back on my haunches. I’m not allowed to touch you with my hands, not until you say so. But I nuzzle your hand with my head, silently requesting attention.

You don’t look down at me, too focused on the ambassador. But your hand absently strokes my hair, filling me with tingles. I let out a gentle sigh, humming with pleasure.

Your hand slides down my neck and to my breasts. You start idly toying with them, squeezing and stroking. I shiver, leaning into your touch, eyes closed. I hear the other man stutter, losing his train of thought. 

“What was that, Ambassador?” All traces of annoyance are gone from your voice now. Instead, you just sound pleased. I allow myself a small smile. My plan is working. 

He stammers an apology, resuming his speech. I’m still not listening, instead focusing on your hands on my breasts. I rub my thighs together, trying to find some semblance of friction to relieve the pressure that is building. Then, your fingers find my nipple and stroke it lightly, sending a bolt of pleasure through me. A moan escapes my lips, loud enough to interrupt the conversation. Silence falls over the throne room, broken only by my light whimpers as you keep playing with my breasts.

“Is something the matter, Ambassador?” 

I look up at you with desperate eyes, but you are focused on the man in front of you, staring at him. Daring him to say something.

“N-n-no, nothing.” He stammers, mopping his brow. 

“Then please continue,” you say, sounding cool, calm and collected.

Your hands start pinching and pulling my breasts and nipples, making me gasp. Then your touches become more gentle, dancing over my sensitive skin. It doesn’t take long before I give in to temptation, sliding a hand between my legs to my hot, wet cunt. I start fingering myself, stroking and rubbing my clit. I’m playing a dangerous game, pushing the rules like this. As I do, I can’t help but whine, desperate for your gaze to fall on me. But you deny me, which only makes me more frantic. Your hand moves from the sweet torturing of my body and cups my face, thumb trailing over my lips. I open my mouth and suck on your thumb, lavishing it with my tongue, moaning gratefully. 

Out of the corner of my eye, I see the man fall silent again, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. 

“You seem ill, Ambassador. Perhaps we should continue this another day.” Your voice holds a touch of concern for our poor, distressed visitor. But you do not remove your hand from my mouth, and I don’t stop my fingers on my clit. 

With your free hand, you motion to the guards, who step forward. “Escort the Ambassador to his rooms, please. And send the physician up to meet him. We will meet again when he is feeling well enough.”

The guards bow, and escort him out. The doors shut, and we are alone in the room. 

You turn your head and finally, finally, your eyes land on me. You smile when you see my wide and desperate eyes. The sight almost makes me lose control, but I manage to restrain myself. My fingers do not slow in their pace, and I’m starting to shake. 

“What a good girl, to get me out of such a trail,” you say, voice husky with lust. “I will have to find some way to reward you.”

I release your thumb with a wet pop, panting loudly. A string of drool trails from my lips. Your hand, now free, strays to the back of my head, gripping my hair and pulling my head back, making my back arch.

“You’re not going to cum, are you?” 

I shake my head pathetically. Words escape me, but I know the rules. 

“Good,” you growl. Your hand wraps around my collar, pulling me upwards to capture my lips in a messy, burning kiss. I can feel the heavy metal digging into my skin, making my knees buckle.

You pull away for a moment, looking down on me in all my disheveled glory. “Oh you poor, desperate thing.” The sound of your voice, all for me, and so close to my ear, makes me whimper again. “Are you ready for your reward?”

I nod frantically. I need to touch you so badly.

You chuckle. With a hard tug on my collar, you drag me around to the front of the throne and let go, so I fall down kneeling between your legs.

“Then take it,” you say.

I reach for you reverently, almost devotionally. I quell the frenzy in me for a moment, stroking your inner thighs with care and gentleness. I can feel you, hard and throbbing, and the desperation returns. 

My hands find your belt, undoing it with great care and not a small amount of haste. Your breeches are unfastened in a similar manner. I hear you hiss with pleasure as I take your cock in my hands, licking my way up the shaft. My lips close over the tip, tongue tracing patterns as my hand grips you tightly and starting to stroke. I slowly take you into my mouth, humming with pleasure as I do. Your hand comes down to my head, stroking my hair as I work at your cock. I suck and glide up[ and down, swirling my tongue across the tip, feeling you strain and start to shudder. I hear you swear under your breath, and it fills me with a wave of pride and pleasure.

But before I can finish, you push me off my prize, grabbing my collar and pulling me up onto the throne with you, and down onto your delicious cock. My eyes nearly roll back into my head when you first enter me, and I clutch at your shoulders, trying regain some semblance of control. All that goes out the window when you start fucking me. It’s hard, furious, and exactly what I need. I cry out with each thrust, and it isn’t long before that pressure starts building in me again. 

“Please,” I say, whimpering. “Please can I cum?”

Your hand wraps around my neck, holding me tightly. “Not yet,” you growl into my ear.

I cry out in despair, but can’t hold onto a thought for more than a moment. God, it feels so good, I can hardly stand it. Soon, I can feel your rhythm starting to get erratic as you get close too.

Finally, you say the word I’ve been waiting for. “Beg,” you demand, breathing hard. 

The words pour out of me in a torrent. “Please let me cum please oh god I need to so badly please-”

“Then cum.”

The wave of pleasure crests over me and I shake and moan in ecstasy. You pump into me once more, then follow suit, groaning as you spend yourself inside me. 

We stay there for a while, you leaning back in the throne and me sitting on your lap, resting against your chest, your arms around me. Once our breathing has calmed, I sit up slightly and kiss you sweetly, languidly. My tongue dances in your mouth, before I pull back and down on your chest. Your arms return around me, holding me possessively against you. And you say those two words that make me shudder in pleasure.

“Good girl.”


End file.
